Dr Schultz, King of Spades
by K900
Summary: Dr Schultz quells a disturbance in the Colleredo County Saloon and gets more than what he bargained for.


**Dr Schultz, King of Spades**

Chapter 1: The Wild Card Saloon

Maddie McGee stared calmly at the heavy set mustachioed Mexican across the table.

He bit repeatedly at the edge of his cigar. The game was into its second hour and he was down to his last few hundred dollars.

The man to her right, an elderly southern gent in the white suit with handlebar whiskers, waited with a soldier's coolness. His cards were close to his pristine suit, and would gaze side to side, betraying no emotion.

—I raise you a 100, says the Bandido.

 _Salty old dog, Maddie thinks. It'll be a pleasure to take you down._

She throws her chips on the pot, matching his bet.

The southern Gent. Mr Walker, exhales audibly.

—Goddamn it, I fold. Barkeep, pour me a whiskey!

—Okay, says Maddie. Show us what you got.

The mexican lays down his cards and smiles broadly.

-4 Jacks and a ten, can you beat that, little lady?

She lays down all spades, 8, 9, 10, jack, Queen.

The smile faded from his lips.

—You've been robbing me all day you two-faced hooker!

His fist hits the table sending the chips crashing down. But before the bandido could draw his colt .45, a slim congenial looking gentleman appeared from behind and trapped the Mexican's hand on his holster with unusual strength. He pointed a small silver pistol in the bandido's back, and pulled back the hammer.

—Señor, you appear to have two options, walk away _from_ a bad hand, or walk away _with_ a bad hand.

He said this in a tone so agreeable, one would have thought he was a bank clerk talking to his most valued client.

Maddie and Mr Walker had never seen the stranger before. He had brown hair, greying at the temples. His slim frame was neither imposing nor threatening. One would never think he would confront a dyed in the wool criminal like Mexican Dan.

—In the interest of keeping the peace, I suggest you cash in your winnings, however small, and go elsewhere.

But the outlaw sized him up.

—I ain't gonna be brought down by a two-bit peckerwood like you.

As the Bandido tried to draw his gun, the stranger had already slammed the butt of his pistol on the outlaw's wrist, breaking it with an audible crack over the oak table.

A high pitched, blood curdling scream rang throughout the saloon. He fell on the parquet floor racked in pain, cradling his hand. The stranger deftly lifted the bandido's gun from its holster.

—If you will permit me, I will take this for safekeeping so you won't cause any more inconvenience to the patrons of the Wild Card Saloon nor the proud citizens of Colloredo County.

He helps the bandido to his feet, and ushers him outside, setting him on his horse, to ride out of town. Bidding him, a fond farewell from the steps of the Saloon. The townsfolk were shocked. Even the chinese railroad workers stared in awe as the bad bandido rode away.

Shaken by this brush with death, Mr Walker, downs his whiskey in one swift motion and collects his winnings from the table with the sweep of his hand.

—That was a close call, he says, loosening his black tie. Its time to go home to my sweet Jenny in Mobile. I miss her somethin' awful.

Eh, Maddie, will you thank the stranger for me?

—Sure thing, Augustus. she says.

She looks over to the barman.

—Hey Max, play us a happy tune, will ya? Let's lighten the mood a bit.

The heavy set barman happily obliges, and the strains of an old west favourite fills the hall.

The stranger in the blue suit re enters the Saloon. He eyes with keen interest the pretty card shark lady at the gaming table. He approaches, the man in the white suit tips his hat to him, and he nods in recognition. He leans over the table and looks down at her cards.

—It appears your hand is short of a King. May I join you, miss…?

—Maddie McGee, and you are?

He takes her delicate hand from the gaming table and raises it to his lips, looking at her with sparkling hazel eyes whose charm she found difficult to resist.

—King, Dr King Schultz, at your service

* * *

Inside the Wild Card Saloon, Dr King Schultz drinks his cold beer in the company of notorious lady card shark Maddie McGee. Strains of piano music can be heard far off amidst laughter and chatter in the bar.

—How long have you been a gambler, Miss McGee? He asks.

She can see him more plainly now. He wore his hair at one length, and his skin was tanned, perhaps from constant riding out in the sun. His suit had signs of frontier dust on his boots. He was no bank clerk, that's for sure.

—Not long. But I worked as a red flag for a well known poker player in El Paso. she replies, counting out the days winnings before putting it in her hose garter. He politely averted his gaze as she did so. _A true gentleman, she thought with amusement._

—What, may I ask, is a red flag? he asks, his gaze now shifting to the sight of the sun setting behind the Guadalupe Mountains. Already, the saloon staff had lit the lanterns for the night.

—A red flag is someone who signals to a card player what cards the other players have.

He raised his eyebrows.

—Clever. he says, looking around surreptitiously. Do you employ a red flag of your own?

—Rarely. Experienced gamblers know the ploy well. I only use it on amateurs.

he smirked and raised his glass to take in another draught.

—Are you a doctor of Medicine, Dr Schultz? She asks, opening a lace fan and cooling herself with it.

—Dentistry. Haven't practiced in years, I'm afraid.

—What do you do now?

—I serve the circuit court of Austin, Texas. he replies with a gleam in his eye.

—Are you a judge? she says, leaning closer to him. Her perfume wafted in his direction. Her beauty began to work on him. Try as he might, he was not totally immune to her charm.

—Not at all, I serve out warrants and track down any undesirables who pose a threat to the community at large.

—So _that's_ how you made short work of that scary outlaw. You handled him well.

His face reddened slightly.

— Where were you before you found the Wild Card Saloon?

Just then a painted lady brought her client, a well built ranch hand, up the grand staircase, giggling and merry while other prostitutes looked on. She gestured in their direction.

—The Wild Card brothel.

For an instant, sordid images of this alluring woman teased his imagination. He brushed them aside.

—Were you any good at it? He joked lightly, taking in the last of his beer, expecting her to reply with no less than a witty retort or a vicious slap. He was ready for either.

Instead, she closed her hand fan, and with the soft lace, sensually traced his cheek with it, down his neck, over the curves of his chest, and finally coming to rest on his inner thigh. He tensed and drew in a sharp breath. She whispered in his ear:

—Would you like to come upstairs and find out?

* * *

Holding his hand, she guides him up the wide staircase. The scent of her perfume making him lightheaded. The ladies flirtatiously smile at him.

—Gimme a holler if you want a second inning, mister, said one girl. While another blew him a kiss.

—Somebody wants some _horizonta_ l _refreshment!_ chimed another, rather crudely.

Dr Schultz in all his years in America, had cautiously avoided the brothel houses. In the past, he had an amour or two, all, respectable women, to be sure. But never in a thousand years did he think he would find himself in a house of ill repute, let alone, being led upstairs by this mysterious lady.

They pass through a series of darkly lit salons, where women lounge in the arms of their clients amidst laughter and tinkling glasses of champagne.

They reach the end of the hall to a large richly carved door. She opens it, and ushers him into an opulently appointed bedroom with an english four poster bed. She lights a lantern and hangs it on the corner.

This was not the room of any ordinary madam, he observed. The bookcase had volumes on greek philosophy, french literature, and to his amusement, a small collection of knives and pistols on the wall.

He turns to her and finds she has already divested herself of most of her clothes, wearing only her black, lacy lingerie.

She grabs him by his string bow tie, and draws him closer toward the bed. Standing close enough to hear the pace of his ragged breathing. The faint scent of desert sage emanating from him. Up close his eyes were even more tantalising, his golden skin, glistening with sweat. She pulls his head down to hers and plants her luscious lips on his.

The sweet taste of her. For King, the room starts to gently spin around. As the kiss deepens, he can feel her her hand running feverishly through his brown locks, the other, exploring him freely underneath his shirt. His heart starts to pound. She starts to undress him, removing the tie, vest, and the shirt. He was slender, but he was all muscle and sinew. Carved like wood.

He draws her closer and starts to return the kiss more deeply, more urgently.

When, from the corner of his eye, he sees a glint of a blade. Instinctively, he grabs her wrist, now armed with a razor. An uncommon strength comes from her and they struggle on the bed as she tries to slash his throat. He is suddenly fully awake and produces his tiny silver pistol from the back of his trousers. They are frozen on the bed, breathing heavily.

She, lying on her back, with her razor to his throat, and he, lying over her with his pistol to her temple. Both unable to act. Both out of breath, shaken at the other's unexpected strength.

—I'm impressed how quickly you drew your razor, miss.

—The stories regarding your quick draw were not at all exagggerated, either.

—You're not just a gambler, are you? Did you bring me up here to rob me?

—No, I've come for revenge.

He frowned, his gaze turned into a cold stare.

—I've met many a would-be avenger. But you are by far, the most skilled. Whom have you come to avenge?

—Herschel Jones the stagecoach bandit. You killed him three years ago.

HIs eyes widened in disbelief.

—You're his sister.

—That's right, bounty hunter.

—I didn't realise you wore dresses. I pegged you for a tomboy, judging from your handbill. Long hair does suit you better, miss Jones.

—And you've shaved your beard, Dr Schultz. You cut quite the dash with a scraped chin. I almost didn't recognise you.

—Now that you're a wanted woman, I guess you won't ever be lonely, Madeleine.

—How much am I worth now?

—Five thousand dollars, dead or alive.

She presses the blade closer to his jugular.

—Am I under arrest?

—Well, with your razor to my throat, I am officially unable to carry out my duty.

And with that, he leans down and kisses her once more. The heady delight of his touch, she lets fall the razor from her grasp, and he too, lets the pistol fall carelessly from his hand to the floor. His fingers start to undo the straps of her lingerie, freeing her of it. Sliding his fingers down to her underwear, sliding it down her legs. _So beautiful,_ she heard him whisper. _I am aching to touch you._

She reaches over and starts to undo his trousers. His member hardening at the sight of her luscious curves. He steps out of the last of his clothes. He takes her hand guides it down for her to stroke him. She can feel how hard he is for her. She wraps her hand tightly against the shaft, and strokes him hard. His eyes close in and his breathing becomes ragged. Seeing his orgasm building fills her with delight.

He hangs on to the post of the bed as her hands send jolts of pleasure shooting up and down his body. Pre cum starts to dribble out of him in spurts.

—Oh Maddie.

Unable to contain herself, she starts to wrap her soft, warm lips around his the tip of his cock. _What a sweet sensation._

She can hear him moaning, whispering her name once more. Begging her to not to stop. Telling her how good it feels. As her pace quickens with feverish abandon, he can hardly stay standing. His pleasure mounting. He says to her

—Let—let me touch you.

She ceases her ministrations, and lets him guide her on the bed. He lies beside her, and starts to explore her swollen lips with his fingers, her legs spread further in turn. Opening like a delicate flower. He seeks out her tender nub, and and starts to pleasure her, encircling her clit over and over. She starts to moan, arching her back.

He quickens his pace, it doesn't take long before her pleasure builds. She starts bucking against his fingers. Her spasms of pleasure mounting.

— _Please Dr King. Ride me. Ride me like a stallion._

He stops, raises himself over her, taking his throbbing erection in his hand. Guides himself inside her hotness, feeling her body gripping him tightly. _God, I can't remember the last time it felt this good._

Slowly he thrusts into her, gradually building up tempo. Faster and faster, like a wild animal unable to stop himself. Lost in the wave of sensations washing over both of them.

* * *

The next morning, Madeline woke and found the other side of the bed empty. He was already gone.

On the bedside table lay her razor, neatly closed and underneath it, the warrant for her arrest, torn in half.


End file.
